As the first album released by an ex-Beatle since the
nightmare of last December 8th. Somewhere in England will
be eagerly received - and given the benefit of every doubt - by
fans desperate for consolation and reassurance that at least some
of the Beatles magic has survived John Lennon. Such sentiments
have been further intensified by the inclusion of George
Harrison's elegy to his former partner, "All Those Years
Ago," whose appearance as a single was elevated to the
status of a media event when it was revealed that Paul McCartney
and Ringo Starr had participated in the recording.

"All Those Years Ago" epitomizes both the positive
and negative aspects of the new LP as a whole, and of Harrison's
work in general. One was prepared to be deeply moved. The song's
lyrics. which the first newspaper reports printed in full,
certainly ring true on paper: "And you were the one they
backed up to the wall/All those years ago/You were the one who
imagined it all." Studded with hooks, the melody and
arrangement are strong. Indeed, "All Those Years Ago"
is downright infectious!

This might have seemed a welcome change of pace for a man
formerly accused of writing mainly dirges - except that here the
subject matter obviously calls for a dirge, something somber and
stirring along the lines of "Isn't It a Pity?" or
"All Things Must Pass." The words just don't fit the
music.

A similar incompatibility extends to Harrison's phrasing.
Throughout Somewhere in England, he's apt to throttle an
attractive melody with mouthfuls of excess verbiage or stretch a
word several syllables out of recognition to meet the demands of
a tune. A really good lyricist would summon phrases that flow
naturally with the music, would find a way to use the word "hon-est-y"
without rendering it as "hon-est-ee-ee-ee."

"All Those Years Ago," in any case, isn't quite the
"reunion" the tabloids cracked it up to be. Ringo Starr
has revealed that the basic instrumental track, including his
drumming, was taped before John Lennon's murder for
eventual use on an upcoming Starr project. But instead, Harrison
elected to do his own Lennon tribute, complete with scarcely
audible Paul and Linda McCartney harmonies. (The George Harrison
story is riddled with episodes like this. Living in the
Material World's "Try Some, Buy Some," for
instance, was first concocted for Ronnie Spector. When her Apple
single bombed, Harrison simply erased her voice and overdubbed
his own.)

Somewhere in England was actually slated for release in
October, 1980. Warner Bros., however, deemed the disc "too
laid back" for today's market and insisted that Harrison add
some "oomphpapa." That, at any rate, is how the artist
describes the wrangle in the revised album's opening salvo,
"Blood from a Clone" (which, along with "All Those
Years Ago," "Teardrops" and "That Which I
Have Lost," replaced the originally slated "Tears of
the World," "Sat Singing," "Flying Hour"
and "Lay His Head"). Because of "the
nit-picking," Harrison claims, "I almost quit kicking
at the wall." Utilizing the tradition of such brusque
commentaries as "Taxman," "Sue Me Sue You
Blues" and "This Song," he now rails against
"the illusion/That [record companies] know just what will
suit you all" and lashes out against the "mundane"
and "awful noises" that receive promotion and airplay
these days. Yet instead of drawing blood by making the point with
a sharp musical parody, "Blood from a Clone" offers
only tired riffs and the overall sound of undistinguished
product.

"Unconsciousness Rules," with its early-Sixties
melody and horn arrangement, packs considerably more
"oomph-papa." In this cautionary tale of life in the
material world, the singer's example of a slave to earthly
desires is a disco habitué.

After having written off the broad spectrum of
contemporary-music lovers, Harrison gets down to serious
business. Despite his vow (with the release of 1979's George
Harrison) to stop "push[ing] 'My Sweet Lord' down
people's throats too much," "Life Itself" is an
explicit paean to "the One" in all His guises:
"Christ, Vsnu, Buddha, Jehovah," etc. With beautifully
filigreed overdubs of breathy, echoing voices and poignant
slide-guitar figures - the artist's most successful trademarks -
the music conjures up a magical temple of mirrors.

For such efforts as these, George Harrison has been called a
preachy bore and "the musical equivalent of horse
tranquilizer" (that from the editor of a Beatles fanzine!).
But to me, Harrison has achieved the supreme gift of
communicating, through the abstract medium of music (the words
are secondary), a vision of the spiritual world he's glimpsed in
his mystical explorations. Side two's "Writing's on the
Wall," which makes discreet use of Indian instruments, is
very nearly as gorgeous and haunting as "Life Itself,"
and a far more imaginative exercise in raga-rock than anything
Harrison ever managed as a Beatle. Though many people may be
unwilling or unable to share George Harrison's spiritual vision,
his sincerity (at least in certain numbers) is beyond dispute,
and the sound he creates is distinctly his own.

Somewhere in England runs the gamut from the sublime to
the ridiculous. Most incongruous of all are two compositions by
Hoagy Carmichael, who was penning hits on Tin Pan Alley before
Hari Georgeson's present incarnation even got under way. In his
book, I Me Mine, Harrison recalls having been turned on to
music at the age of four by "Hong Kong Blues," which is
presumably why it, along with "Baltimore Oriole," is
included here. The fact that Harrison's voice is as unsuited to
carrying this kind of tune as that of Ringo Starr (who demolished
Carmichael's "Stardust" on Sentimental Journey)
apparently never occurred to him.

Leave it to George Harrison to conclude Somewhere in
England with a daunting exhortation called "Save the
World." Veering uncertainly between whimsy and dour
warnings, the song ultimately fails either to galvanize or amuse.

Social commentary and ironic wit clearly remain outside the
scope of Harrison's very real talents, as does the ability to
belt out a convincing rocker. "Life Itself" sums up
what he does best and - judging from the care he lavishes on it -
what he loves best. The most paradoxical of the ex-Beatles,
George Harrison is an enigmatic mixture of exquisite
craftsmanship and heavy-handed hack work, touching sincerity and
plain disingenuousness. As it stands, Somewhere in England
is neither here nor there.